®"" 
AMERICA 


BY  J.  M.  WHITFIELD. 


»£t. 

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POEMS. 


BUFFALO:      ^   ^  I 
PUBLISHED  BY  JAMES  S.  LEAVITT. 

1853. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1853,  t>y 

J.    M.    WHITFIELD, 

tin  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Northern  District 
of  New  York. 


TO 

MARTIN  R.  DELAtfY,  M.  D. 

THIS  VOLUME 
IS  INSCRIBED   AS  A  SMALL   TRIBUTE  OF  RESPECT 

FOR   HIS   CHARACTER, 

ADMIRATION  OF  HIS   TALENTS,   AND  LOVE  OF  HIS  PRINCIPLES, 
BY   THE 

AUTHOR. 


M191917 


CONTENTS. 

PAOB 
AMERICA,  9 

Christmas  Hymn, 16 

Lines  on  the  death  of  J.  Quincy  Adams, 18 

To  Cinque, 20 

New  Year's  Hymn, 21 

To  A.  H., 22 

Love, 27 

How  Long, 29 

The  Arch  Apostate, 40 

The  Misanthropist, 48 

A  Hymn, 54 

Yes  !  strike  again  that  sounding  string, 57 

To ., 59 

Prayer  of  the  Oppressed, 61 

ToS.A.  T 63 

Delusive  Hope, 64 

To  M.  E.  A , 66 

A  Hymn, ...67 

Self- Reliance,    69 

Ode  for  the  Fourth  of  July,  74 

Midnight  Musings 76 

Ode  to  Music,   79 

Stanzas  for  the  month  of  August,  * 82 


INTRODUCTION. 

"ANOTHER  book  of  poetry,"  exclaims  the  reader;  "and 
that,  too,  by  one  of  the  proscribed  race,  whose  lot  has  been 
ignorance  and  servitude."  It  is  even  so :  and  this  little 
volume  is  presented  to  the  public  in  the  full  confidence  that 
it  will  be  read  and  appreciated,  when  the  circumstances  of 
its  origin  are  known.  Its  merits  as  a  literary  production, 
we  leave  to  be  decided  upon  by  the  kind  judgment  of  the 
American  people.  We  do  not  claim  that  the  poetry  is  of 
the  highest  order  :  but  we  do  claim  that  it  would  be  credit- 
able to  authors  of  greater  pretensions  than  the  humble  col- 
ored man,  who  hath  wrought  it  out  amid  the  daily  and 
incessant  toil  necessary  for  the  maintenance  of  a  family, 
•who  are  dependent  upon  the  labor  of  his  hands  for  support. 
There  is  in  it  the  fire  of  a  genius  which,  under  more  favored 
circumstances,  would  have  soared  high,  aud  obtained  no 
mean  place  in  the  world's  estimation.  There  is  the  voice 
of  true  poesy  speaking  in  it,  which,  though  in  the  rough  it 
may  be,  and  wanting  the  polish  which  education  and  re- 
fined opportunity  give,  yet  nature  outgusheth  in  harmonious 
numbers,  and  her  bard,  all  untutored  as  he  is,  singeth  sweetly, 
and  giveth  forth  the  conceptions  of  his  soul  in  "words  that 
breathe  and  thoughts  that  burn.*7 


Vlll  INTRODUCTION. 

The  writer  of  the  following  pages  is  a  poor  colored  man 
of  this  city,  engaged  in  the  humble,  yet  honorable  and  use- 
ful occupation  of  a  barber.  His  time  is  constantly  taken  up 
in  his  business,  and  he  writes  in  such  intervals  of  leisure  as 
he  is  able  to  realize.  He  is  uneducated  ;  not  entirely,  but 
substantially;  his  genius  is  native  and  uncultivated,  and  yet 
his  verse  possesses  much  of  the  finish  of  experienced  author- 
ship ;  there  is  the  "ring  of  the  true  metal J)  in  it.  He  feels 
the  "  Divine  spark"  within  him,  and  longs  for  the  means  und 
opportunity  to  call  in  the  aid  of  intellectual  culture,  that  he 
may  be  enabled  to  give  it  form  and  shape,  and  clothe  it  in 
befitting  language.  This  volume  is  presented  to  the  public 
with  this  view,  and  in  the  hope  that  it  may  find  a  favorable 
reception  with  our  people,  and  ""put  money  in  the  purse  "  of 
the  writer,  that  he  may  be  able  to  cultivate,  improve,  and 
fully  develop  the  talent  which  God  hath  given  him. 

BUFFALO,  MAY,  1853. 


POEMS. 

AMERICA. 

AMERICA,  it  is  to  thee, 

Thou  boasted  land  of  liberty, — 

It  is  to  thee  I  raise  my  song, 

Thou  land  of  blood,  and  crime,  and  wrong. 

It  is  to  thee,  my  native  land, 

From  whence  has  issued  many  a  band 

To  tear  the  black  man  from  his  soil, 

And  force  him  here  to  delve  and  toil; 

Chained  on  your  blood-bemoistened  sod, 

Cringing  beneath  a  tyrant's  rod, 

Stripped  of  those  rights  which  Nature's  God 

Bequeathed  to  all  the  human  race, 
Bound  to  a  petty  tyrant's  nod, 

Because  he  wears  a  paler  face. 


,10    .  AMERICA. 

Was  it  for  this,  that  freedom's  fires 
Were  kindled  by  your  patriot  sires  ? 
Was  it  for  this,  they  shed  their  blood, 
On  hill  and  plain,  on  field  and  flood  ? 
Was  it  for  this,  that  wealth  and  life 
Were  staked  upon  that  desperate  strife, 
Which  drenched  this  land  for  seven  long  years 
With  blood  of  men,  and  women's  tears  ? 
When  black  and  white  fought  side  by  side, 

Upon  the  well-contested  field, — 
Turned  back  the  fierce  opposing  tide, 

And  made  the  proud  invader  yield  — 
When,  wounded,  side  by  side  they  lay, 

And  heard  with  joy  the  proud  hurrah 
From  their  victorious  comrades  say 

That  they  had  waged  successful  war, 
The  thought  ne'er  entered  in  their  brains 
That  they  endured  those  toils  and  pains, 
To  forge  fresh  fetters,  heavier  chains 
For  their  own  children,  in  whose  veins 
Should  flow  that  patriotic  blood, 
So  freely  shed  on  field  and  flood. 


11 


Oh  no;  they  fought,  as  they  believed, 

For  the  inherent  rights  of  man ; 
But  mark,  how  they  have  heen  deceived 

By  slavery's  accursed  plan. 
They  never  thought,  when  thus  they  shed 

Their  heart's  best  blood,  in  freedom's  cause. 
That  their  own  sons  would  live  in  dread, 

Under  unjust,  oppressive  laws  : 
That  those  who  quietly  enjoyed 

The  rights  for  which  they  fought  and  fell, 
Could  be  the  framers  of  a  code, 

That  would  disgrace  the  fiends  of  hell! 
Could  they  have  looked,  with  prophet's  ken, 

Down  to  the  present  evil  time, 

Seen  free-born  men,  uncharged  with  crime, 
Consigned  unto  a  slaver's  pen, — 
Or  thrust  into  a  prison  cell, 
With  thieves  and  murderers  to  dwell  —• 
While  that  same  flag  whose  stripes  and  stars 
Had  been  their  guide  through  freedom's  wars 
A.S  proudly  waved  above  the  pen 

Of  dealers  in  the  souls  of  men ! 
2 


12  AMERICA. 

Or  could  the  shades  of  all  the  dead, 

Who  fell  beneath  that  starry  flag, 
Visit  the  scenes  where  they  once  hied, 

On  hill  and  plain,  on  vale  and  crag, 
By  peaceful  brook,  or  ocean's  strand, 

By  inland  lake,  or  dark  green  wood, 
Where'er  the  soil  of  this  wide  land 

Was  moistened  by  their  patriot  blood, — 
And  then  survey  the  country  o'er, 

From  north  to  south,  from  east  to  west, 
And  hear  the  agonizing  cry 
Ascending  up  to  God  on  high, 
From  western  wilds  to  ocean's  shore, 

The  fervent  prayer  of  the  oppressed; 
The  cry  of  helpless  infancy 

Torn  from  the  parent's  fond  caress 
By  some  base  tool  of  tyranny, 

And  doomed  to  woo  and  wretchedness; 
The  indignant  wail  of  fiery  youth, 

Its  noble  aspirations  crushed, 
Its  generous  zeal,  its  love  of  truth, 

Trampled  by  tyrants  in  the  dust; 


AMERICA.  13 

The  aerial  piles  which  fancy  reared, 

And  hopes  too  bright  to  be  enjoyed, 
Have  passed  and  left  his  young  heart  seared, 

And  all  its  dreams  of  bliss  destroyed. 
The  shriek  of  virgin  purity, 

Doomed  to  some  libertine's  embrace, 
Should  rouse  the  strongest  sympathy 

Of  each  one  of  the  human  race; 
And  weak  old  age,  oppressed  with  care, 

As  he  reviews  the  scene  of  strife, 
Puts  up  to  God  a  fervent  prayer, 

To  close  his  dark  and  troubled  life. 
The  cry  of  fathers,  mothers,  wives, 

Severed  from  all  their  hearts  hold  dear, 
And  doomed  to  spend  their  wretched  lives 
In  gloom,  and  doubt,  and  hate,  and  fear; 
And  manhood,  too,  with  soul  of  fire, 
And  arm  of  strength,  and  smothered  ire, 
Stands  pondering  with  brow  of  gloom, 
Upon  his  dark  unhappy  doom, 
Whether  to  plunge  in  battle's  strife, 
And  buy  his  freedom  with  his  life, 


14  AMERICA. 

And  with  stout  heart  and  weapon  strong, 
Pay  back  the  tyrant  wrong  for  wrong, 
Or  wait  the  promised  time  of  God, 

When  his  Almighty  ire  shall  wake, 
And  smite  the  oppressor  in  his  wrath, 
And  hurl  red  ruin  in  his  path, 
And  with  the  terrors  of  his  rod, 

Cause  adamantine  hearts  to  quake. 
Here  Christian  writhes  in  bondage  still, 

Beneath  his  brother  Christian's  rod, 
And  pastors  trample  down  at  will, 

The  image  of  the  living  God. 
While  prayers  go  up  in  lofty  strains, 

And  pealing  hymns  ascend  to  heaven, 
The  captive,  toiling  in  his  chains, 

With  tortured  limbs  and  bosom  riven, 
Raises  his  fettered  hand  on  high, 

And  in  the  accents  of  despair, 
To  him  who  rules  both  earth  and  sky, 

Puts  up  a  sad,  a  fervent  prayer, 
To  free  him  from  the  awful  blast 

Of  slavery's  bitter  galling  shame  — 


AMERICA.  15 

Although  his  portion  should  be  cast 

With  demons  in  eternal  flame  1 
Almighty  God !  't  is  this  they  call 

The  land  of  liberty  and  law; 
Part  of  its  sons  in  baser  thrall 

Than  Babylon  or  Egypt  saw  — 
Worse  scenes  of  rapine,  lust  and  shame, 

Than  Babylonian  ever  knew, 
Are  perpetrated  in  the  name 

Of  God,  the  holy,  just,  and  true; 
And  darker  doom  than  Egypt  felt, 
May  yet  repay  this  nation's  guilt. 
Almighty  God !   thy  aid  impart, 
And  fire  anew  each  faltering  heart, 
And  strengthen  every  patriot's  hand, 
Who  aims  to  save  our  native  land. 
We  do  not  come  before  thy  throne, 

With  carnal  weapons  drenched  in  gore, 
Although  our  blood  has  freely  flown, 

In  adding  to  the  tyrant's  store. 
Father  !   before  thy  throne  we  come, 

Not  in  the  panoply  of  war, 

2* 


16  CHRISTMAS    HYMN. 

With  pealing  trump,  and  rolling  drum, 

And  cannon  booming  loud  and  far; 
Striving  in  blood  to  wash  out  blood, 

Through  wrong  to  seek  redress  for  wrong; 
For  while  thou'rt  holy,  just  and  good/ 

The  battle  is  not  to  the  strong ; 
But  in  the  sacred  name  of  peace, 

Of  justice,  virtue,  love  and  truth, 
We  pray,  and  never  mean  to  cease, 

Till  weak  old  age  and  fiery  youth 
In  freedom's  cause  their  voices  raise, 
And  burst  the  bonds  of  every  slave; 
Till,  north  and  south,  and  east  and  west, 
The  wrongs  we  bear  shall  be  redressed. 


CHRISTMAS  HYMN. 

Hail,  glorious  morn !  whose  radiant  beams, 
Looked  down  on  Christ's  nativity, 

For  every  year  thy  presence  teems 
With  joy  and  glad  festivity. 


CHRISTMAS    HYMN.  17 

On  Judea's  plains  th'  angelic  throng 
Burst  on  the  shepherds'  awe-struck  gaze, 

And  raised  on  high  a  new-made  song 
Unto  their  great  Creator's  praise. 

The  star  of  Bethlehem's  heavenly  light 
Guided  the  wise  men  from  the  east, 

Who  came  to  lay  their  power  and  might, 
Their  wisdom,  at  the  Saviour's  feet. 

Oh,  may  that  star's  resplendent  light 

Continue  o'er  the  world  to  shine, 
Till  nations  now  in  Pagan  night 

Shall  worship  at  thy  holy  shrine. 

Till  all  the  people  of  the  earth, 
From  north  to  south,  Irom  east  to  west, 

Hear  tidings  of  the  Saviour's  birth, 
And  bow  unto  his  great  behest. 

Till  superstition's  blighting  sway 

Shall  flee  before  religion's  light, 
As  doth  the  glorious  orb  of  day  , 

Disperse  the  shadows  of  the  night. 


18  LINES    ON    THE    DEATH   OF   J.    Q.   ADAMS.  18 

LINES  OF  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QUINCY 
ADAMS. 

THE  great,  the  good,  the  just,  the  true, 

Has  yielded  up  his  latest  breath ; 
The  noblest  man  our  country  knew, 

Bows  to  the  ghastly  monster,  Death 
The  son  of  one  whose  deathless  name 

Stands  first  on  history's  brightest  page; 
The  highest  on  the  list  of  fame 

As  statesman,  patriot,  and  sage. 

In  early  youth  he  learned  to  prize 

The  freedom  which  his  father  won: 
The  mantle  of  the  patriot  sire, 

Descended  on  his  mightier  son. 
Science,  her  deepest  hidden  lore 

Beneath  his  potent  touch  revealed; 
Philosophy's  abundant  store, 

Alike  his  mighty  mind  could  wield. 

The  brilliant  page  of  poetry 
Received  additions  from  his  pen, 


LINES    ON    THE    DEATH    OF   J.    Q.    ADAMS.  19 

Of  holy  truth  and  purity, 

And  thoughts  which  rouse  the  souls  of  men  ! 
Eloquence  did  his  heart  inspire, 

And  from  his  lips  in  glory  blazed, 
Till  nations  caught  the  glowing  fire, 

And  senates  trembled  as  they  praised! 

While  all  the  recreant  of  the  land 

To  slavery's  idol  bowed  the  knee  — 
A  fawning,  sycophantic  band, 

Fit  tools  of  petty  tyranny — 
He  stood  amid  the  recreant  throng, 

The  chosen  champion  of  the  free, 
And  battled  fearlessly  and  long 

For  justice,  right,  and  liberty. 

What  though  grim  Death  has  sealed  his  doom 
Who  faithful  proved  to  God  and  us; 

And  slavery,  o'er  the  patriot's  tomb 
Exulting,  pours  its  deadliest  curse; 

Among  the  virtuous  and  free 
His  memory  will  ever  live; 


20  TO    CINQUE. 

Champion  of  right  and  liberty, 
The  blessings,  truth  and  virtue  give. 


TO  CINQUE. 

I\LL  hail !   thou  truly  noble  chief, 

Who  scorned  to  live  a  cowering  slave ; 
Thy  name  shall  stand  on  history's  leaf, 

Amid  the  mighty  and  the  brave: 
Thy  name  shall  shine,  a  glorious  light 

To  other  brave  and  fearless  men, 
Who,  like  thyself,  in  freedom's  might, 

Shall  beard  the  robber  in  his  den. 
Thy  name  shall  stand  on  history's  page, 

And  brighter,  brighter,  brighter  glow, 
Throughout  all  time,  through  every  age, 

Till  bosoms  cease  to  feel  or  know 

"  Created  worth,  or  human  woe." 
Thy  name  shall  nerve  the  patriot's  hand 

W'hen,  'mid  the  battle's  deadly  strife, 
The  glittering  bayonet  and  brand 

Are  crimsoned  with  the  stream  of  life: 


NEW  YEAR'S  HYMN.  r      21 

When  the  dark  clouds  of  battle  roll, 

And  slaughter  reigns  without  control, 

Thy  name  "shall  then  fresh  life  impart, 

And  fire  anew  each  freeman's  heart. 

Though  wealth  and  power  their  force  combine 

To  crush  thy  noble  spirit  down, 
There  is  above  a  power  divine 

Shall  bear  thee  up  against  their  frown. 


NEW  YEAR'S  HYMK 

ANOTHER  year,  another  year, 
Unfolds  its  page  of  hope  and  fear ! 

Where,  at  its  close,  shall  we  appear 
Who  now  are  congregated  here. 

Perhaps,  with  those  now  passed  away, 
We  may  be  laid  deep  in  the  earth; 

Perchance,  'mid  foreign  scenes,  we  may 
Forget  the  land  that  gave  us  birth. 

Perhaps  upon  the  stormy  seae, 
Where  raging  billows  wildly  roll, 


22  TO   A.   H. 

The  terrors  of  despair  may  seize 
Upon  the  dark  and  guilty  soul. 

But  wheresoever  our  footsteps  tend, 
'Mid  tropic  sands,  or  polar  snow, 

May  we  remember  that  great  Friend 
Who  guards  us  wheresoever  we  go. 

Whose  mighty  hand  hath  been  our  stay 
Through  scenes  of  trouble,  doubt  and  fear, 

And  suffered  us,  poor  worms  of  clay, 
To  enter  on  another  year. 


TO  A.  H. 

I  JUST  had  turned  the  classic  page, 
With  ancient  lore  and  wisdom  fraught, 

Which  many  a  hoary-headed  sago 
Had  stamped  with  never-dying  thought; 

And  many  a  bard  of  lofty  mind, 
With  measured  lay  and  tuneful  lyre, 

And   strains  too  grand  for  human  kind, 


TO    A.   H.  23 

All  pregnant  with  celestial  fire  — 
In  notes  majestic,  loud  and  long, 
Had  poured  the  volumed  tide  of  song. 
Here  Egypt's  sages,  skilled  of  yore 

In  Isis'  dark  mysterious  rites, 
Unvailed  their  fund  of  mystic  lore 

To  eager  Grecian  neophytes. 
And  as  I  sadly  musing  sat, 

Thinking  on  ages  long  gone  by, 
The  Pantheon  arose  in  state, 

And  passed  before  my  fancy's  eye. 
Juno's  majestic  mien  was  there, 

And  Venus'  beauteous  form  and  face, 
Diana,  modest,  chaste,  and  fair, 

Hebe,  adorned  with  youthful  grace, 
Ceres,  with  sheaves  and  plenteous  horn, 

Minerva,  with  high  wisdom  crowned, 
Aurora,  radiant  as  the  morn, 

Whose  smiles  shed  light  on  all  around ; 
The  Graces,  sisterhood  divine, 

Prepared  to  charm  each  mortal  sense, 

And  last  of  all,  the  immortal  Nine, 
3 


24  TO    A.   H 

With  music,  verse,  and  eloquence, — 
Naiads  and  Nymphs,  a  numerous  train, 
Came  thronging  through  £he  amplo  fane. 
Peris,  from  eastern  regions  came, 

Bearing  aloft  the  sacred  fire, 
Which  Zoroaster,  son  of  flame, 

Kindled  on  Mithra's  ancient  pyre. 
The  dark-eyed  maids  who  wait  to  greet 

The  Moslem  brave  in  Paradise, 
Forsook  awhile  their  blissful  seat, 

And  loft  the  region  of  the  skies, 
The  palm  of  beauty  to  dispute 
TVith  sovereign  Jove's  immortal  suit. 
And  as  I  sat,  entranced,  amazed, 

With  radiant  beauty  circled  round, 
Thy  form,  high  o'er  the  rest  upraised, 

Appeared,  with  brighter  splendor  crowned, 
And  every  eye  was  turned  on  thee, 

Of  Houri,  Peri,  Goddess,  Grace, 
As,  bright  in  peerless  majesty, 

You  mounted  to  the  highest  place. 
Juno  resigned  her  crown  to  thee, 


TO    A.    H.  J5 

Venus  her  zone  of  love  unbound, 
While  haughty  Pallas  bowed  the  knee, 

And  laid  her  armor  on  the  ground. 
The  Muses,  also,  owned  thee  queen 

Of  music,  eloquence,  and  verse, 
And  tuned  their  lyres  and  harps,  I  ween, 

Thy  matchless  praises  to  rehearse. 
The  Peri  owned  thy  dazzling  eye 

Might  kindle  far  a  brighter  fire 
Than  that  which  erst  blazed  to  the  sky, 

On  many  an  oriental  pyre, 
There  lighting  up  with  ray  divine, 
The  ancient  Gheber's  fiery  shrine. 
The  Houris  owned  that  could  thy  charms 

Be  viewed  from  regions  of  the  skies, 
'T  would  tempt  the  faithful  from  their  arms, 

And  all  the  joys  of  Paradise; 
Or  were  the  Prophet's  self  on  earth, 

And  but  a  glimpse  of  thee  were  given, 
He'd  own  one  smile  of  thine  were  worth 

All  pleasures  of  his  highest  Heaven ; 
And  from  the  Moslem  creed  erase 


26  TO    A.    H. 

That  portion  so  unjustly  given, 
Which  shuts  one  half  the  human  race 

Forever  from  the  joys  of  Heaven. 
And  all  the  bright  Olympic  train, 
Finding  the  contest  waged  ia  vain, 
And  that  each  boasted  Deity 
Was  far  eclipsed  in  charms  by  thee, 
Fled  from  the  scene  where  all  their  charms, 

The  power  of  wisdom,  beauty,  grace, 
Had  prostrate  sunk  beneath 'Che  arms 

Of  one  who,  though  of  mortal  race, 
In  her  own  person  did  combine 
All  of  the  attributes  divine 
Which  Grecian  fancy  erst  did  trace 
In  Jsymph,  in  Goddess,  or  in  Grace; 
And  ne'er  did  eastern  poet  tell,  ^ 

'Mid  all  the  fabled  sprites  that  dwell 
On  earth,  in  water,  or  in  air, 
Of  aught  that  could  with  thee  compare  — 
Of  mortal,  or  immortal  kind, 
In  grace  of  person  and  of  mind : 
For  in  thy  presence  pleasures  grow. 


LOVE.  27 

And  brightest  glories  round  theo  move, 
Whether  it  be  with  men  below, 

Or  seraphs  in  the  realms  above 
And  when  thy  spirit  shall  return 

Back  to  that  Heaven  from  whence  it  came, 
Angels  and  seraphs,  in  their  turn, 

Shall  join  to  celebrate  thy  name, 
And  spread  through  Heaven  as  well  as  earth, 
The  story  of  thy  matchless  worth. 


LOVE. 

IN  the  bright  dreams  of  early  youth, 

I  strung  my  lyre,  and  waked  a  strain, 
In  praise  of  friendship,  love  and  truth, 

Without  a  thought  of  care  or  pain; 

But  soon,  in  answer  to  my  strain, 
A  voice  came  pealing  from  above, 

Sounding  o'er  valley,  hill  and  plain  — 

Where's  he  that  knows  the  power  of  love? 
3* 


28  LOVE. 

The  brainless  youth  in  lady's  bower, 
Who,  sighing,  chants  some  amorous  lay, 

Or  twines  a  wreath,  or  plucks  a  flower, 
A  tribute  of  his  love  to  pay 
Or,  mid  the  crowd,  the  gallant  gay, 

With  witty  jest,  and  jibe,  and  jeer, 
Spending  in  revelry  and  play 

The  few  bright  hours  allowed  him  here, 

Thinks  that  he  knows  what  'tis  to  love  — 

Speaks  of  that  pure  and  holy  flame 
Which  emanates  from  God  above, 

As  though  't  were  nothing  but  a  name  . 

That  noble,  pure,  and  holy  flame, 
Jehovah's  chiefest  attribute, 

Implanted  in  the  human  frame, 
Raised  man  above  the  sordid  brute. 

And  he  who  ever  feels  its  power, 
Whate'er  his  station,  high  or  low, 

In  pleasure's  or  in  sorrow's  hour, 
Will  feel  his  inmost  bosom  glow 


HOW    LONG.  29 

With  love  to  all,  both  friend  and  foe; 
For  God  commandeth  all  to  love, 

And  those  who  would  his  glories  know, 
Must  learn  this  truth,  that  God  is  love. 


HOW  LONG. 

How  long,  oh  gracious  God  !  how  long 

Shall  power  lord  it  over  right? 
The  feeble,  trampled  by  the  strong, 

Remain  in  slavery's  gloomy  night. 
In  every  region  of  the  earth, 

Oppression  rules  with  iron  power, 
And  every  man  of  sterling  worth, 

Whose  soul  disdains  to  cringe,  or  cower 
Beneath  a  haughty  tyrant's  nod, 
And,  supplicating,  kiss  the  rod, 
That,  wielded  by  oppression's  might, 
Smites  to  the  earth  his  dearest  right, 
The  right  to  speak,  and  think,  and  feel, 

And  spread  his  uttered  thoughts  abroad, 
To  labor  for  the  common  weal, 


30  HOW    LONG. 

Responsible  to  none  but  God  — 
Is  threatened  with  the  dungeon's  gloom, 
The  felon's  cell,  the  traitor's  doom ; 
And  treacherous  politicians  league 

With  hireling  priests,  to  crush  and  ban 
All  who  expose  their  vile  intrigue, 

And  vindicate  the  rights  of  man. 
How  long  shall  Afric  raise  to  thee 

Her  fettered  hand,  oh  Lord,  in  vain  ? 
And  plead  in  fearful  agony, 

For  vengeance  for  her  children  slain. 
I  see  the  Gambia's  swelling  flood, 

And  Niger's  darkly  rolling  wave, 
Bear  on  their  bosoms  stained  with  blood, 

The  bound  and  lacerated  slave; 
While  numerous  tribes  spread  near  and  far, 
Fierce,  devastating,  barbarous  war  — 
Earth's  fairest  scenes  in  ruin  laid 
To  furnish  victims  for  that  trade, 
Which  breeds  on  earth  such  deeds  of  shame 
As  fiends  might  blush  to  hear  or  name. 
I  see  where  Danube's  waters  roll, 


HOW    LONG.  31 

And  where  the  Magyar  vainly  strove, 
With  valiant  arm,  and  faithful  soul, 

In  battle  for  the  land  he  loved  — 
A  perjured  tyrant's  legions  tread 
The  ground  where  Freedom's  heroes  hied, 
And  still  the  voice  of  those  who  feel 
Their  country's  wrongs,  with  Austrian  steel. 
I  see  the  "Rugged  Russian  Bear" 
Lead  forth  his  slavish  hordes,  to  War 
Upon  the  right  of  every  State 
Its  own  affairs  to  regulate : 
To  help  each  Despot  bind  the  chain 
Upon  the  people's  rights  again, 
And  crush  beneath  his  ponderous  paw 
All  Constitutions,  rights  and  law. 
I  see  in  France,  oh,  burning  shame! 
The  shadow  of  a  mighty  name, 
Wielding  the  power  her  patriot  bands 
Had  boldly  wrenched  from  kingly  hands, 
With  more  despotic  pride  of  sway 
Than  ever  monarch  dared  display. 
The  Fisher,  too,  whose  world-wide  nets 


32  HOW   LONG. 

Are  spread  to  snare  the  souls  of  men, 
By  foreign  tyrant's  bayonets 

Established  on  his  throne  again, 
Blesses  the  swords  still  reeking  red 

With  the  best  blood  his  country  bore, 
And  prays  for  blessings  on  the  head 

Of  him  who  wades  through  Roman  gore. 
The  same  unholy  sacrifice, 
Where'er  I  turn,  bursts  on  mine  eyes, 
Of  princely  pomp,  and  priestly  pride. 

The  people  trampled  in  the  dust, 
Their  dearest,  holiest  rights  denied, 

Their  hopes  destroyed,  their  spirit  crushed  ; 
But  when  I  turn  the  land  to  view, 

Which  claims,  par  excellence,  to  be 
The  refuge  of  the  brave  and  true, 

The  strongest  bulwark  of  the  free, 
The  grand  asylum  for  the  poor 

And  trodden-down  of  every  land, 
Where  they  may  rest  in  peace  secure, 

Nor  fear  th'  oppressor's  iron  hand  — 
Worse  scenes  of  rapine,  lust  and  shame, 


HOW   LONG.  33 

Than  e'er  disgraced  the  Russian  name, 
Worse  than  the  Austrian  ever  saw, 
Are  sanctioned  here  as  righteous  law. 
Here  might  the  Austrian  Butcher*  make 

Progress  in  shameful  cruelty, 
Where  women-whippers  proudly  take 

The  meed  and  praise  of  chivalry. 
Here  might  the  cunning  Jesuit  learn  — 

Though  skilled  in  subtle  sophistry, 
And  trained  to  persevere  in  stern, 

Unsympathizing  cruelty, 
And  call  that  good,  which,  right  or  wrong, 
Will  tend  to  make  his  order  strong  — 
He  here  might  learn  from  those  who  stand 

High  in  the  gospel  ministry, 
The  very  magnates  of  the  land 

In  evangelic  piety, 
That  conscience  must  not  only  bend 

To  every  thing  the  Church  decrees, 
But  it  must  also  condescend, 

When  drunken  politicians  please 

*Haynau. 


34  HOTT    LONG. 

To  place  their  own  inhuman  acts 

Ahove  the  "higher  law"  of  God, 
And  on  the  hunted  victim's  tracks 

Cheer  the  malignant  fiends  of  blood; 
To  help  the  man-thief  bind  the  chain 

Upon  his  Christian  brother's  limb, 
And  bear  to  Slavery's  hell  again 

The  bound  and  suffering  child  of  Him 
Who  died  upon  the  cross,  to  save 
Alike,  the  master  and  the  slave. 
While  all  th'  oppressed  from  every  land 
Are  welcomed  here  with  open  hand, 
And  fulsome  praises  rend  the  heaven 
For  those  who  have  the  fetters  riven 
Of  European  tyranny, 
And  bravely  struck  for  liberty: 
And  while  from  thirty  thousand  fanes 

Mock  prayers  go  up,  and  hymns  are  sung, 
Three  millions  drag  their  clanking  chains, 

"Unwept,  unhonored  and  unsung;" 
Doomed  to  a  state  of  slavery 

Compared  with  which  the  darkest  night 


HOW   LONG.  35 

Of  European  tyranny, 

Seems  brilliant  as  the  noonday  light; 
While  politicians,  void  of  shame, 

Cry,  this  is  law  and  liberty, 
The  clergy  lend  the  awful  name 

And  sanction  of  the  Deity, 
To  help  sustain  the  monstrous  wrong, 
And  crush  the  weak  beneath  the  strong. 
Lord !  thou  hast  said,  the  tyrant's  ear 

Shall  not  be  always  closed  to  thee, 
But  that  thou  wilt  in  wrath  appear, 

And  set  the  trembling  captive  free; 
And  even  now  dark  omens  rise 

To  those  who  either  see  or  hear, 
And  gather  o'er  the  darkening  skies 

The  threatening  signs  of  fate  and  fear. 
Not  like  the  plagues  which  Egypt  saw, 

When  rising  in  an  evil  hour, 
A  rebel  'gainst  the  "higher  law," 

And  glorying  in  her  mighty  power  — 
Saw  blasting  fire,  and  blighting  hail, 
Sweep  o'er  her  rich  and  fertile  vale, 


36  HOW   LONG. 

And  heard  on  every  rising  gale, 
Ascend  the  bitter,  mourning  wail; 
And  blighted  herd,  and  blasted  plain, 
Through  all  the  land  the  first-born  slain, 
Her  priests  and  magi  made  to  cower 
In  witness  of  a  higher  power, 
And  darkness,  like  a  sable  pall, 

Shrouding  the  land  in  deepest  gloom, 
Sent  sadly  through  the  minds  of  all 

Forebodings  of  approaching  doom. 
What  though  no  real  shower  of  fire 

Spreads  o'er  this  la  ad  its  withering  blight, 
Denouncing  wide  Jehovah's  ire 

Like  that  which  palsied  Egypt's  might; 
And  though  no  literal  darkness  spreads 

Upon  the  land  its  sable  gioorn, 
And  seems  to  iiing  around  our  heads 

The  awful  terrors  of  the  tomb  : 
Yet  to  the  eye  of  him  who  reads 

The  fate  of  nations  past  and  gone, 
And  marks  with  care  the  wrongful  deeds 

By  which  their  power  was  overthrown, 


HOW    LONG.  37 

Worse  plagues  than  Egypt  ever  felt 

Are  seen  wide-spreading  through  the  land, 
Announcing  that  the  heinous  guilt 

On  which  the  nation  proudly  stands, 
Has  risen  to  Jehovah's  throne 

And  kindled  his  avenging  ire, 
And  broad-cast  through  the  land  has  sown 

The  seeds  of  a  devouring  fire. 
Tainting  with  foul,  pestiferous  breath 

The  fountain-springs  of  moral  life, 
And  planting  deep  the  seeds  of  death, 

And  future  germs  of  deadly  strife; 
And  moral  darkness  spreads  its  gloom 

Over  the  land  in  every  part 
And  buries  in  a  living  tomb 

Each  generous  prompting  of  the  heart. 
Vice  in  its  darkest,  deadliest  stains, 

Here  walks  with  brazen  front  abroad, 
And  foul  corruption  proudly  reigns 

Triumphant  in  the  Church  of  God; 
And  sinks  so  low  the  Christian  name, 
In  foul,  degrading  vice,  and  shame, 


88  HOW   LONG. 

That  Moslem,  Heathen,  Atheist,  Jew, 

And  men  of  every  faith  and  creed, 
To  their  professions  far  more  true, 

More  liberal  both  in  word  and  deed, 
May  well  reject,  with  loathing  scorn, 

The  doctrines  taught  by  those  who  sell 
Their  brethren  in  the  Saviour  born, 

Down  into  slavery's  hateful  hell; 
And  with  the  price  of  Christian  blood 
Build  temples  to  the  Christian's  God; 
And  offer  up  as  sacrifice, 

And  incense  to  the  God  of  heaven, 
The  mourning  wail,  and  bitter  cries, 

Of  mothers  from  their  children  riven; 
Of  virgin  purity  profaned 

To  sate  some  brutal  ruffian's  lust, 
Millions  of  Godlike  minds  ordained 

To  grovel  ever  in  the  dust; 
Shut  out  by  Christian  power  and  might, 
From  every  ray  of  Christian  light. 
How  long,  oh  Lord!  shall  such  vile  deeds 

Be  acted  in  thy  holy  name* 


HOW    LONG.  39 

And  senseless  bigots,  o'er  their  creeds, 

Fill  the  whole  earth  with  war  and  flame  ? 
How  long  shall  ruthless  tyrants  claim 

Thy  sanction  to  their  bloody  laws, 
And  throw  the  mantle  of  thy  name, 

Around  their  foul,  unhallowed  cause  ? 
How  long  shall  all  the  people  bow 

As  vassals  of  the  favored  few, 
And  shame  the  pride  of  manhood's  brow, 

Give  what  to  God  alone  is  due  — 
Homage,  to  wealth,  and  rank,  and  power 
Vain  shadows  of  a  passing  hour? 
Oh  for  a  pen  of  living  fire, 

A  tongue  of  flame,  an  arm  of  steel, 
To  rouse  the  people's  slumbering  ire, 

And  teach  the  tyrant's  heart  to  feel. 
Oh  Lord!  in  vengeance  now  appear, 

And  guide  the  battles  for  the  right, 
The  spirits  of  tho  fainting  cheer, 

And  nerve  the  patriot's  arm  with  might; 
Till  slavery  banished  from  the  world, 

And  tyrants  from  their  powers  hurled, 

4* 


40  THE    ARCH    APOSTATE. 

And  all  mankind  from  bondage  free, 
Exult  in  glorious  liberty. 


THE  ARCH  APOSTATE. 

"  Since  he  miscalled  the  morning  star, 
Nor  man,  nor  fiend  hath  fallen  so  far." — BYRON. 

WHEN  gathered  in  the  courts  above, 

Before  Jehovah's  burning  throne, 
Archangels  own  his   boundless  love, 

And  cast  their  crowns  of  glory  down; 
While  cherubim  and  seraphim, 

Thronging  in  serried  ranks  around, 
Now  raise  on  high  the  pealing  hymn, 

And  loud  their  Maker's  praise  resound ; 
Causing  the  arch  of  heaven  to  ring 
With  loud  hosannas  to  their  king. 
And  in  a  thousand  varied  lays 
Pouring  their  raptured  songs  of  praise, 
A  tribute  to  Almighty  love, 
Through  which  alone  they  live  and  move. 


THE    ARCH    APOSTATE.  41 

Praising  the  fixed,  unchanging  laws, 
By  which  the  first  Eternal  Cause 
Propels  the  radiant  spheres  on  high, 
That  through  the  illimitable  sky 
Pursue  their  never-varying  course 
Throughout  the  boundless  Universe. 
And  all  the  host  to  whom  was  given 

The  rays  of  bright  intelligence, 
To  fit  them  for  the  joys  of  heaven, 

Far  higher  than  the  carnal  sense ; 
All  owned  the  wisdom  of  those  laws, 
By  which  the  first  Almighty  Cause, 
Throughout  Creation's  vast  expanse, 

Imposed  on  every  creature's  mind, 
Through  endless  ages  to  advance, 

In  good  and  evil  unconfmed  : 
That  "  higher  law,"  which,  fixed  as  fate, 
Binds  all  of  high  or  low  estate. 
But  one,  the  foremost  of  that  train, 

The  first  in  wisdom,  power  and  might, 
Who  poured  in  heaven  the  highest  strain, 

And  clearest  saw  both  wrong  and  right, 


42  THE    ARCH   APOSTATE. 

Of  loftiest,  most  capacious  mind, 

Of  largest  views,  of  strongest  will, 
Of  power  to  dazzle,  foil  and  blind, 

Make  evil  good,  and  good  seem  ill, 
With  haughty  and  ambitious  boast, 

To  deeds  of  evil  e'er  inclined, 
A  third  part  of  the  heavenly  host 

Drew  with  him  in  rebellion  blind; 
And  strove  to  make  the  lower  law 

Of  his  own  lust,  and  hate,  and  pride, 
The  only  source  from  whence  to  draw 

For  rules  and  precepts  to  decide; 
And  thus  beneath  his  feet  he  trod 
The  statutes  of  Almighty  God; 
And  by  avenging  justice  fell 
Down  to  the  lowest  depths  of  hell. 
So  in  our  Nation's  Senate  Hall, 

Where  statesmen  grave,  in  council  meet, 
By  far  the  mightiest  of  them  all, 

One  called  the  Godlike,  most  complete 
In  all  the  attributes  of  mind, 
That  win  the  applause  of  human  kind  — 


THE    ARCH    APOSTATE.  43 

Whose  learned  thoughts,  and  glowing  words, 

In  early  days  had  oft  been  poured 

In  trumpet  tones  at  Freedom's  shrine, 

And  fanned  the  latent  spark  divine 

Implanted  in  the  human  breast, 

Of  sympathy  with  the  oppressed, 

Into  a  bright  and  living  blaze, 

Beneath  whose  fierce  and  scorching  rays, 

Tyrants  had  cowered  in  the  dust, 

And  slaves  looked  up  with  hopeful  trust. 

When  Greece  had  broke  the  tyrant's  chain, 

And  bathed  her  sword  in  Moslem  gore, 
While  Freedom's  thrilling  battle-strain, 

Was  pealing  o'er  her  classic  shore, 
His  was  the  voice  which,  o'er  the  wave, 

Sent  forth  a  loud  and  cheering  note, 
Aroused  to  strife  the  slumbering  slave, 

And  cheered  the  struggling  Suliote. 
On  Plymouth  rock  his  voice  was  heard, 
In  tones  which  like  a  clarion  stirred 
The  blood  in  every  freeman's  veins, 
And  caused  the  slaves  on  Southern  plains, 


44  THE    ARCH   APOSTATE. 

To  hail  it  as  the  harbinger 

Of  bright  and  halcyon  days  to  come, 
When  many  a  Northern  Senator^ 

Shall  dare  to  speak  for  those  now  dumb. 
But  oh,  how  changed !   the  giant  mind 

That  once  had  soared  a  Godlike  flight, 
And,  'mid  the  sceptered  kings  of  miiid 

Had  mounted  to  the  loftiest  height, 
Now  prostrate,  groveling  in  the  dust, 
Recreant  to  his  most  sacred  trust, 
The  women-whippers'  pliant  tool, 

Perjured  in  sight  of  God  and  man, 
And  falsest  of  the  hollow  school 

Of  demagogues,  who  lead  the  van, 
The  forlorn  hope  of  slavery ; 
With  intrigue,  cunning,  knavery, 
Striving  to  quell  the  rising  tide 

Of  freedom  setting  o'er  the  land, 
And  threatening  with  tyrannic  pride 

To  all  who  dare  for  freedom  stand, 
The  terrors  of  the  dungeon's  gloom, 
The  felon's  cell,  the  traitor's  doom; 


THE    ARCH    APOSTATE.  45 

Setting  their  own  unholy  laws 

Above  the  higher  law  of  God; 
Branding  each  one  who  scorns  their  cause, 

Nor  fears  the  petty  tyrant's  nod, 
A  traitor,  and  an  infidel, 
And  hireling  priests  are  paid  to  tell 

That  those  whom  Jesus  died  to  save, 
And  ransomed  with  his  blood  from  hell, 

Were  born  to  be  their  abject  slaves; 
And  the  rude  rabble  catch  the  yell, 
And  help  the  furious  sound  to  swell, 
Which  sends  a  shout  of  joy  through  hell, 
Where  all  the  damned,  in  endless  flame, 

Exult  amid  tormenting  fire, 
That  men  should  take  such  pains  to  claim 

The  notice  of  Almighty  ire. 
When  all  the  deep-dyed  villains  come 
To  listen  to  their  final  doom, 
And  the  great  Judge  himself  portrays 

The  different  degrees  of  crime 
Which  marked  their  darkly  devious  ways, 
While  passing  through  the  rounds  of  time* 


46  THE    ARCH    APOSTATE. 

Arnold,  whose  treacherous  nature  sought 

His  country's  freedom  to  betray, 
For  which  himself  had  bravely  fought, 

On  many  a  doubtful  battle-day; 
And  Gorgey,  too,  whose  jealous  spite, 

Betrayed  his  country  to  her  foes, 
And  quenched  in  blood  the  dawning  light 

That  brightly  o'er  her  prospects  rose; 
And  Judas,  who  for  paltry  pelf, 

His  Lord  and  Saviour  basely  sold,  . 
And  then,  despairing,  hung  himself; 

And  all,  who,  for  the  lust  of  gold, 
Or  pride,  or  hate,  or  love  of  power, 

The  tyrant  or  the  traitor  played, 
Or  faltering,  in  an  evil  hour, 

Their  sacred  trusts  have  all  betrayed ; 
They  yet  shall  scorn  the  proffered  hand 
Of  him,  the  vilest  of  the  band, 
Who,  having  greater  power  of  mind 

Than  any  other  living  man, 
Had  used  it  to  debase  his  kind, 

And  spread  abroad  the  direst  ban 


THE    ARCH   APOSTATE.  47 

Which  man  or  devil  ever  saw, 
Slavery's  corrupt,  inhuman  law: 
And,  sinking  from  his  high  estate, 

Without  excuse  of  any  kind, 
The  lust  of  power,  or  pride,  or  hate, 

Or  imbecility  of  mind, 
Has  stooped  in  Freedom's  council  halls, 

Where  live  the  memories  of  the  brave, 
To  be  the  meanest  thing  that  crawls 

The  earth  —  a  voluntary  slave 
In  future  years,  when  men  desire 

To  speak  in  strong  hyperbole, 
And  give,  in  one  small  word,  the  fire 

And  essence  of  iniquity  — 
That  name  shall  suit  their  purpose  well, 
For  not  'mid  all  the  fiends  of  hell, 
Could  one  be  found  that  would  express 
So  well,  the  depths  of  littleness; 
And  Webster's  name  shall  ever  be 
The  deepest  badge  of  infamy. 


THE    MISANTHROPIST. 

THE  MISANTHROPIST. 

IN  vain  thou  bid'st  me  strike  the  lyre, 

And  sing  a  song  of  mirth  and  glee, 
Or,  kindling  with  poetic  fire, 

Attempt  some  higher  minstrelsy; 
In  yain,  in  vain  !   for  every  thought 

That  issues  from  this  throbbing  brain, 
Is  from  its  first  conception  fraught 

With  gloom  and  darkness,  woe  and  pain. 
From  earliest  youth  my  path  has  been 

Cast  in  life's  darkest,  deepest  shade, 
Where  no  bright  ray  did  intervene, 

Nor  e'er  a  passing  sunbeam  strayed; 
But  all  was  dark  and  cheerless  night, 

Without  one  ray  of  hopeful  light. 
From  childhood,  then,  through  many  a  shock, 

I've  battled  with  the  ills  of  life, 
Till,  like  a  rude  and  rugged  rock, 

My  heart  grew  callous  in  the  strife. 
When  other  children  passed  the  hours 

In  mirth,  and  play,  and  childish  glee, 


THE    MISANTHROPIST.  49 

Or  gathering  the  summer  flowers 

By  gentle  brook,  or  flowery  lea, 
I  sought  the  wild  and  rugged  glen 

Where  Nature,  in  her  sternest  mood, 
Far  from  the  busy  haunts  of  men, 

Frowned  in  the  darksome  solitude. 
There  have  I  mused  till  gloomy  night, 

Like  the  death-angel's  brooding  wing, 
Would  shut  out  every  thing  from  sight, 

And  o'er  the  scene  her  mantle  fling ; 
And  seeking  then  my  lonely  bed 

To  pass  the  night  in  sweet  repose, 
Around  my  fevered,  burning  head, 

Dark  visions  of  the  night  arose; 
And  the  stern  scenes  which  day  had  viewed 

In  sterner  aspect  rose  before  me, 
And  specters  of  still  sterner  mood 

Waved  their  menacing  fingers  o'er  me. 
When  the  dark  storm-fiend  soared  abroad, 

And  swept  to  earth  the  waving  grain, 
On  whirlwind  through  the  forest  rode, 

And  stirred  to  foam  the  heaving  main, 


50  THE   MISANTHROPIST. 

I  loved  to  mark  the  lightning's  flash, 

And  listen  to  the  ocean's  roar, 
Or  hear  the  pealing  thunder's  crash, 

And  see  the  mountain  torrents  pour 
Down  precipices  dark  and  steep, 

Still  bearing,  in  their  headlong  course 
To  meet  th'  embrace  of  ocean  deep, 

Mementoes  of  the  tempest's  force; 
For  fire  and  tempest,  flood  and  storm, 

Wakened  deep  echoes  in  my  soul, 
And  made  the  quickening  life-blood  warm 

With  impulse  that  knew  no  control; 
And  the  fierce  lightning's  lurid  flash 

Rending  the  somber  clouds  asunder, 
Followed  by  the  terrific  crash 

Which  marks  the  hoarsely  rattling  thunder, 
Seemed  like  the  gleams  of  lurid  light 

Which  flashed  across  my  seething  brain, 
Succeeded  by  a  darker  night, 

With  wilder  horrors  in  its  train. 
And  I  have  stood  on  ocean's  shore, 

And  viewed  its  dreary  waters  roll, 


THE    MISANTHROPIST.  51 

Till  the  dull  music  of  its  roar 

Called  forth  responses  ID  my  soul; 
And  I  have  felt  that  there  was  traced 

An  image  of  my  inmost  soul, 
In  that  dark,  dreary,  boundless  waste, 

Whose  sluggish  waters  aimless  roll  — 
Save  when  aroused  by  storms'  wild  force 

It  lifts  on  high  its  angry  wave, 
And  thousands  driven  from  their  course 

Find  in  its  depths  a  nameless  grave. 
Whene'er  I  turned  in  gentler  mood 

To  scan  the  old  historic  page, 
It  was  not  where  the  wise  and  good, 

The  Bard,  the  Statesman,  or  the  Sage, 
Had  drawn  in  lines  of  living  light, 
Lessons  of  virtue,  truth  and  right; 
But  that  which  told  of  secret  league, 

Where  deep  conspiracies  were  rife, 
And  where,  through  foul  and  dark  intrigue, 

Were  sowed  the  seeds  of  deadly  strife. 
Where  hostile  armies  met  to  seal 

Their  country's  doom,  for  woe  or  weal ; 
5* 


52  THE    MISANTHROPIST. 

Where  the  grim-visaged  death-fiend  drank 

His  full  supply  of  human  gore, 
And  poured  through  every  hostile  rank 

The  tide  of  battle's  awful  roar ; 
For  then  my  spirit  seemed  to  soar 

Away  to  where  such  scenes  were  rife, 
And  high  above  the  battle's  roar 

Sit  as  spectator  of  the  strife- — 
And  in  those  scenes  of  war  and  woe, 
A  fierce  and  fitful  pleasure  know. 
There  was  a  time  when  I  possessed 

High  notions  of  Religion's  claim, 
.Nor  deemed  its  practice,  at  the  best, 

Was  but  a  false  and  empty  name; 
But  when  I  saw  the  graceless  deeds 

Which  marked  its  strongest  votaries'  path, 
How  senseless  bigots,  o'er  their  creeds, 

Blazing  with  wild  fanatic  wrath, 
Let  loose  the  deadly  tide  of  war, 
Spread  devastation  near  and  far, 
Through  scenes  of  rapine,  blood  and  shame, 
Of  cities  sacked,  and  towns  on  flame, 


THE    MISANTHROPIST.  53 

Caused  unbelievers'  hearts  to  feel 

The  arguments  of  fire  and  steel 

By  which  they  sought  t'  enforce  the  word, 

And  make  rebellious  hearts  approve 
Those  arguments  of  fire  and  sword 

As  mandates  of  the  God  of  love  — 
How  could  I  think  that  such  a  faith, 

Whose  path  was  marked  by  fire  and  blood, 
That  sowed  the  seeds  of  war  and  death, 

Had  issued  from  a  holy  God? 
There  was  a  time  when  I  did  love, 

Such  love  as  those  alone  can  know, 
Whose  blood  like  burning  lava  moves, 

Whose  passions  like  the  lightning  glow ; 
And  when  that  ardent,  truthful  love, 

Was  blighted  in  its  opening  bloom, 
And  all  around,  below,  above, 

Seemed  like  the  darkness  of  the  tomb, 
'Twas  then  my  stern  and  callous  heart, 
Riven  in  its  most  vital  part, 
Seemed  like  some  gnarled  and  knotted  oak, 
That,  shivered  by  the  lightning's  stroke, 


54  THE    MISANTHROPIST. 

Stands  in  the  lonely  wanderer's  path, 
A  ghastly  monument  of  wrath. 
Then  how  can  I  attune  the  lyre 

To  strains  of  love,  or  joyous  glee? 
Break  forth  in  patriotic  fire, 

Or  soar  on  higher  minstrelsy, 
To  sing  the  praise  of  virtue  bright, 
Condemn  the  wrong,  and  laud  the  right; 
When  neither  vice  nor  guilt  can  fling 

A  darker  shadow  o'er  my  breast, 
Nor  even  Virtue's  self  can  bring, 

Unto  my  moody  spirit,  rest. 
It  may  not  be,  it  cannot  be ! 

Let  others  strike  the  sounding  string, 
And  in  rich  strains  of  harmony, 

Songs  of  poetic  beauty  sing; 
But  mine  must  still  the  portion  be, 

However  dark  and  drear  the  doom, 
To  live  estranged  from  sympathy, 
;•  Buried  in  doubt,  despair  and  gloom; 
To  bare  my  breast  to  every  blow, 
To  know  no  friend,  and  fear  no  foe, 


A   HYMN.  55 

Each  generous  impulse  trod  to  dust, 
Each  noble  aspiration  crushed, 
Each  feeling  struck  with  withering  blight, 
With  no  regard  for  wrong  or  right, 
No  fear  of  hell,  no  hope  of  heaven, 
Die  all  unwept  and  unforgiven, 
Content  to  know  and  dare  the  worst 
Which  mankind's  hate,  and  heaven's  curse, 
Can  heap  upon  my  living  head, 
Or  cast  around  my  memory  dead; 
And  let  them  on  my  tombstone  trace, 
Here  lies  the  Pariah  of  his  race. 


A  HYMN, 

WRITTEN  FOR  THE  DEDICATION   OP  THE  VINE  STREET  METHODIST 
EPISCOPAL   CHURCH,  BUFFALO. 

GOD  of  our  sires !  before  thy  throne 
Our  humble  offering  now  we  bring; 

Deign  to  accept  it  as  thine  own, 
And  dwell  therein,  Almighty  King. 


56  A   HTMN. 

Around  thy  glorious  throne  above 
Angels  and  flaming  seraphs  sing, 

Archangels  own  thy  boundless  lore, 
And  cherubim  their  tribute  bring* 

And  every  swiftly  rolling  sphere, 

That  wends  its  way  through  boundless  space, 
Hymns  forth,  in  chorus  loud  and  clear, 

Its  mighty  Maker's  power  and  grace. 
It  is  not  ours  to  bear  the  parts 

In  that  celestial  song  of  praise, 
But  here,  oh  Lord !   with  grateful  hearts, 

This  earthly  fane  to  thee  we  raise. 

Oh,  let  thy  presence  fill  this  house, 

And  from  its  portals  ne'er  depart; 
Accept,  oh  Lord !   the  humble  vows 

Poured  forth  by  every  contrite  heart. 
No  sacrifice  of  beast  or  bird, 

No  clouds  of  incense  here  shall  rise, 
But  in  accordance  with  thy  word, 

We'll  bring  a  holier  sacrifice. 


YES]    STRIKE    AGAIN    THAT    BOUNDING    STRING.     57 

Here  shall  the  hoary-headed  sire 

Invoke  thy  grace  on  bended  knee, 
While  youth  shall  catch  the  sacred  fire, 

And  pour  its  song  of  praise  to  thee. 
Let  childhood,  too,  with  stammering  tongue, 

Here  lisp  thy  name  with  reverent  awe, 
And  high,  and  low,  and  old,  and  young, 

Be  brought  t'  obey  thy  holy  law. 

And  when  our  spirits  shall  return 

Back  to  the  God  who  gave  them  birth, 
And  these  frail  bodies  shall  be  borne 

To  mingle  with  their  kindred  earth  — 
Then,  in  that  house  not  made  with  hands, 

New  anthems  to  thy  praise  we'll  sing, 
To  thee,  who  burst  our  slavish  bands, 

Our  Savior,  prophet,  priest  and  king. 


YES!    STRIKE   AGAIN   THAT    SOUNDING 
STRING. 

YES  !  strike  again  that  sounding  string, 
And  let  the  wildest  numbers  roll; 


58      FES!    STRIKE    AGAIN   THAT    SOUNDING    STRING. 

Thy  song  of  fiercest  passion  sing  — 
It  breathes  responsive  to  my  soul ! 

A  soul,  whose  gentlest  hours  were  nursed, 
In  stern  adversity's  dark  way, 

And  o'er  whose  pathway  never  burst 
One  gleam  of  hope's  enlivening  ray. 

If  thou  wouldst  soothe  my  burning  brain, 
Sing  not  to  me  of  joy  and  gladness; 

'Twill  but  increase  the  raging  pain, 
And  turn  the  fever  into  madness. 

Sing  not  to  me  of  landscapes  bright, 
Of  fragrant  flowers  and  fruitful  trees  — 

Of   azure  skies  and  mellow  light, 

Or  whisperings  of  the  gentle  breeze; 

But  tell  me  of  the  tempest  roaring 
Across  the  angry  foaming  deep, 

Or  torrents  from  the  mountains  pouring 
Down  precipices  dark  and  steep. 

Sing  of  the  lightning's  lurid  flash, 
The  ocean's  roar,  the  howling  storm, 


59 


The  earthquake's  shock,  the  thunder's  crash, 
Where  ghastly  terrors  teeming  swarm. 

Sing  of  the  battle's  deadly  strife. 
The  ruthless  march  of  war  and  pillage, 

The  awful  waste  of  human  life, 
The  plundered  town,  the  burning  village ! 

Of  streets  with  human  gore  made  red, 
Of  priests  upon  the  altar  slain; 

The  scenes  of  rapine,  woe  and  dread, 

*''  /  ; 

That  fill  the  warrior's  horrid  train. 

Thy  song  may  then  an  echo  wake, 

Deep  in  this  soul,  long  crushed  and  sad, 

The  direful  impressions  shake 
Which  threaten  now  to  drive  it  mad. 


TO 


APPROACHING  night  her  mantle  flings 

O'er  plain  and  valley,  rock  and  glen, 
6 


60  TO  . 

When  borne  away  on  fancy's  wings, 

Imagination  guides  my  pen. 
I  soar  away  to  glittering  spheres, 

And  leave  behind  the  sons  of  earth; 
Lo  !   my  enraptured  fancy  hears 

Seraphic  strains  of  heavenly  mirth. 
A  vision  as  of  angel  bright 

Sudden  appears  before  my  face, 
A  beauteous,  fascinating  sprite, 

Endowed  with  every  charm  and  grace. 
Majestic  Juno's  lofty  mien, 

With  beauteous  Venus'  form  and  face, 
And  chaste  Diana's  modesty, 

Adorned  with  wise  Minerva's  grace, 
United  in  thy  form  divine, 
With  most  resplendent  luster  shine. 
And  when  those  matchless  charms  I  viewed, 

Thy  faultless  form,  and  graceful  mien, 
Surprised,  amazed,  entranced  I  stood, 

And  gazed  with  rapture  on  the  scene. 
And  when  thy  lips  were  ope'd  to  speak, 

In  tones  so  sweet,  so  soft  and  clear, 


PRAYER    OF    THE    OPPRESSED.  61 

Gabriel  his  golden  harp  might  break, 

And  seraphs  lean  from  heaven  to  hear. 
'Tis  the  pure  mind  which  dwells  within, 

Displays  itself  in  act  and  word, 
And  raises  thee  from  every  sin 

Far,  far  above  the  common  herd. 
And  when  the  term  of  life  is  past, 

And  thy  pure  soul  returns  to  heaven, 
The  memory  of  thy  worth  shall  last, 

While  thought  or  mind  to  man  are  given 


PRAYER  OF  THE  OPPRESSED. 

OH  great  Jehovah !   God  of  love, 
Thou  monarch  of  the  earth  and  sky, 

Canst  thou  from  thy  great  throne  above 
Look  down  with  an  unpitying  eye  ?  — 

See  Afric's  sons  and  daughters  toil, 
Day  after  day,  year  after  year, 

Upon  this  blood-bemoistened  soil, 
And  to  their  cries  turn  a  deaf  ear  ? 


62  PRAYEE    OF    THE    OPPRESSED. 

Canst  thou  the  white  oppressor  bless 
With  verdant  hills  and  fruitful  plains, 

Regardless  of  the  slave's  distress, 

Unmindful  of  the  black  man's  chains. 

How  long,  oh  Lord !   ere  thou  wilt  speak 
In  thy  Almighty  thundering  voice, 

To  bid  the  oppressor's  fetters  break, 
And  Ethiopia's  sons  rejoice. 

How  long  shall   Slavery's  iron  grip, 

And  Prejudice's  guilty  hand, 
Send  forth,  like  blood-hounds  from  the  slip, 

Foul  persecutions  o'er  the  land  ? 

How  long  shall  puny  mortals  dare 

To  violate  thy  just  decree, 
And  force  their  fellow-men  to  wear 

The  galling  chain  on  land  and  sea? 

Hasten,  oh  Lord !   the  glorious  time 
When  everywhere  beneath  the  skies, 

From  every  land  and  every  clime, 
Peans  to  Liberty  shall  riee ! 


TO   S.   A.   T.  63 

When  the  bright  sun  of  liberty 
Shall  shine  o'er  each  despotic  land, 

And  all  mankind,  from  bondage  free, 
Adore  the  wonders  of  thy  hand. 


TO    S.  A.  T. 

As  with  thy  Album  in  my  hand, 

Upon  this  picture  late  I  gazed, 
With  tuneful  harp  held  in  its  hand, 

And  eyes  of  joy  to  Heaven  upraised, 
As  if  it  inspiration  sought 
From  Heaven's  pure  shrine  of  holy  thought, 
Like  those  inspired  bards,  who  sung 
Jehovah's  praise  with  prophet  tongue, 
I  thought  of  thee,  as,  long  ago, 
I  heard  thy  voice  so  sweetly  flow 
Through  measures  of  most  tender  feeling, 
The  soul  of  melody  revealing; 
Breathing,  in  sweetest  harmony, 
The  noblest  strains  of  poesy. 

Like  seraph  of  celestial  fire, 
6* 


C4  DELUSIVE    HOPE. 

Who  tunes  his  voice  and  sacred  lyre, 
And  moves  th'  angelic  hosts  above 
To  pour  their  notes  of  praise  and  love 
To  Him  who  sits  enthroned  on  high 
In  undisputed  majesty  i 
So  thy  harmonious  notes  divine 
Cause  men  to  bow  before  thy  shrine; 
Their  adoration  bring  to  thee, 
Bright  image  of  the  Deity. 


DELUSIVE  HOPE. 

IN  the  bright  days  of  early  youth, 

Hope  told  a  fond,  delusive  tale 
Of  lasting  friendship,  holy  truth, 

And  steadfast  love  which  ne'er  should  fail. 
I  listened  to  the  flattering  strain 

With  all  the  fire  of  ardent  youth ; 
And  long  I  sought,  but  sought  in  vain, 

To  find  the  dwelling-place  of  truth. 
Though  many  in  her  garb  appeared, 

Assumed  her  name  and  simple  mien, 


DELUSIVE    HOPE.  65 

Ere  long  the  vile  deceit  was  cleared, 

And  all  the  hypocrite  was  seen. 
And  friendship,  too,  though  long  and  loud 

Her  voice  I've  heard  in  many  a  place, 
Among  the  fickle,  thoughtless  crowd, 

I  never  have  beheld  her  face. 
Love,  next,  its  bright  and  glittering  chain 

Around  the  captive  fancy  threw; 
But  soon  its  vows  proved  false  and  vain 

As  the  chameleon's  changeful  hue. 
Now,  when  the  hopes  and  joys  are  dead 

That  gladdened  once  the  heart  of  youth, 
All  the  romantic  visions  fled 

That  told  of  friendship,  love  and  truth, 
Turn  we  unto  that  steadfast  friend 

Who  guards  our  steps  where'er  they  rovo, 
Whose  power  supports  us  to  the  end, 

Whose  word  is  truth,  whose  name  is  love. 


TO    M.    E.   A. 

TO  M.  E.  A. 

OH!  had  I  that  poetic  lore 

Bestowed  upon  the  favored  few, 
To  ope'  Dame  Nature's  bounteous  store, 

And  hold  her  treasures  up  to  view, 
To  climb  Parnassus'  lofty  mount, 
Or  taste  the  Muses'  sacred  fount, 
The  far-famed  Heliconian  spring, 
Which  Grecian  poets  erst  did  sing, — 
And  did  Apollo,  and  the  Nine, 
With  eloquence  and  verse  divine, 
Direct  my  pen  —  I  scarce  could  tell 
The  numerous  charms  which  in  thee  dwell. 
Thy  loveliness  of  form  and  face 
Might  serve  as  model  for  a  Grace; 
And  the  bright  luster  of  thine  eye 
Mahomet's  Houris  far  outvie. 
The  nobler  beauties  of  the  mind, 

Refined  and  elevated  taste; 
Great  moral  purity,  combined 

With  every  outward  charm  and  grace 


A   HYMN.  67 

And  reason,  governing  the  whole,  * 

Displays  in  every  act,  a  soul 

High  raised  above  the  things  which  bind 

Down  to  the  earth  more  sordid  minds; 

And,  soaring  fetterless  and  free 

In  its  unsullied  purity, 

Seems  like  a  seraph  wandering  here, 

The  native  of  a  brighter  sphere. 


A  HYMN, 

WBITTEN  FOB,  THE   DEDICATION  OF   THE  MICHIGAN  STBEET   BAP- 
TIST  CHURCH,    BUFFALO. 

ALMIGHTY  God !  in  this  thy  house, 

For  the  first  time  thy  people  stand, 
To  pay  to  thee  their  humble  vows, 

And  crave  fresh  mercies  at  thy  hand. 
To  thee,  oh  Lord  !  this  house  we  rear ; 

Deign  thou  the  humble  work  to  bless, 
And  grant  that  many  souls  may  hear 

The  words  of  truth  and  righteousness 


68  A    HYMN. 

*v      -f 

Which  from  thy  servants'  lips  shall  fall 

Who  labor  faithful  in  thy  cause; 
Oh  may  they  hear  and  heed  the  call, 

And  learn  t'obey  thy  holy  laws. 
Here,  often  as  thy  saints  shall  meet, 

Deign  thou  to  enter  in  the  midst, 
And  guide  our  erring,  wandering  feet, 

In  paths  which  lead  to  heavenly  bliss. 

Strengthen  the  wavering  Christian's  faith. 

Subdue 'the  proud,  exalt  the  meek, 
Save  sinners  from  eternal  death, 

And  lead  us  all  thy  truth  to  seek. 
And  when  our  humble  prayers  ascend, 

Hear  thou,  in  heaven,  thy  dwelling-place ; 
O'er  us  thy  guardian  arm  extend, 

And  shed  around  thy  heavenly  grace. 

And  when  the  pealing  hymn  shall  rise 
In  strains  of  gratitude  and  praise, 

Almighty  monarch  of  the  skies, 
Accept  and  bless  our  humble  lays. 


SELF-RELIANCE.  69 

And  when  thy  servants  preach  thy  word, 

Thy  Holy  Spirit,  oh,  impart, 
And  make  it  like  a  two-edged  sword 

Piercing  to  every  sinner's  heart. 

And  when  the  toils  of  life  are  o'er, 

And  these  frail  bodies  turn  to  dust, 
Receive  us,  Lord,  forever  more, 

Among  the  holy  and  the  just. 
Then,  in  that  house  not  made  with  hands, 

We'll  sing  new  anthems  to  thy  praise, 
To  thee,  who  burst  our  slavish  bands, 

And  taught  our  hearts  to  love  thy  ways. 


SELF-RELIANCE. 

I  LOVE  the  man  whose  lofty  mind 
On  God  and  its  own  strength  relies ; 

Who  seeks  the  welfare  of  his  kind, 
And  dare  be  honest  though  he  dies; 

Who  cares  not  for  the  world's  applause, 


0  SELF-RELIANCE. 

But,  to  his  own  fixed  purpose  true, 
The  path  which  God  and  nature's  laws 

Point  out,  doth  earnestly  pursue. 
When  adverse  clouds  around  him  lower, 

And  stern  oppression  bars  his  way, 
When  friends  desert  in  trial's  hour, 

And  hope  sheds  but  a  feeble  ray; 
When  all  the  powers  of  earth  and  hell 

Combine  to  break  his  spirit  down. 
And  strive,  with  their  terrific  yell, 

To  crush  his  soul  beneath  their  frown  — 
When  numerous  friends,  whose  cheerful  tone 

In  happier  hours  once  cheered  him  on, 
With  visions  that  full  brightly  shone, 

But  now,  alas  !   are  dimmed  and  gone ! 
When  love,  which  in  his  bosom  burned 

With  all  the  fire  of  ardent  youth, 
And  which  he  fondly  thought  returned 

With  equal  purity  and  truth, 
Mocking  his  hopes,  falls  to  the  ground, 

Like  some  false  vision  of  the  night, 
Its  vows  a  hollow,  empty  sound, 


SELF-RELIANCE 

Scathing  his  heart  with  deadly  blight, 
Choking  that  welling  spring  of  lore, 
Which  lifts  the  soul  to  God  above, 
In  bonds  mysterious  to  unite 
The  finite  with  the  infinite; 
And  draw  a  blessing  from  above, 
Of  infinite  on  finite  love. 
When  hopes  of  better,  fear  of  worse, 

Alike  are  fled,  and  naught  remains 
.To  stimulate  him  on  his  course  : 

No  hope  of  bliss,  no  fear  of  pains 
Fiercer  than  what  already  rend, 

With  tortures  keen,  his  inmost  heart, 
Without  a  hope,  without  a  friend, 

With  nothing  to  allay  the  smart 
From  blighted  love,  affections  broken, 

From  blasted  hopes  and  cankering  care, 
When  every  thought,  each  word  that's  spoken 

Urges  him  onward  to  despair. 
When  through  the  opening  vista  round, 

Shines  on  him  no  pellucid  ray, 

Like  beam  of  early  morning  found, 

1 


72  SELF-RELIANCE. 

The  harbinger  of  perfect  day  ; 
But  like  the  midnight's  darkening  frown, 

When  stormy  tempests  roar  on  high, 
When  pealing  thunder  shakes  the  ground, 

And  lurid  lightning  rends  the  sky ! 
When  clothed  in  more  than  midnight  gloom, 
Like  some  foul  specter  from  the  tomb, 
Despair,  with  stern  and  fell  control, 
Sits  brooding  o'er  his  inmost  soul  — 
'Tis  then  the  faithful  mind  is  proved, 

That,  true  alike  to  man  and  God, 
By  all  the  ills  of  life  unmoved, 

Pursues  its  straight  and  narrow  road. 
For  such  a  man  the  siren  song 

Of  pleasure  hath  no  lasting  charm; 
Nor  can  the  mighty  and  the  strong 

His  spirit  tame  with  powerful  arm. 
His  pleasure  is  to  wipe  the  tear 
*  Of  sorrow  from  the  mourner's  cheek, 
The  languid,  fainting  heart  to  cheer, 

To  succor  and  protect  the  weak. 
When  the  bright  face  of  fortune  smiles 


SELF-RELIANCE.  73 

Upon  his  path  with  cheering  ray, 
And  pleasure,  with  alluring  wiles, 

Flatters,  to  lead  his  heart  astray, 
His  soul  in  conscious  virtue  strong, 

And  armed  with  innate  rectitude, 
Loving  the  right,  detesting  wrong. 

And  seeking  the  eternal  good 
Of  all  alike,  the  high  or  low, 
His  dearest  friend,  or  direst  foe, 
Seeks  out  the  brave  and  faithful  few, 
Who,  to  themselves  and  Maker  true, 
Dare,  in  the  name  and  fear  of  God, 
To  spread  the  living  truth  abroad  ! 
Armed  with  the  same  sustaining  power, 
Against  adversity's  dark  hour, 
And  from  the  deep  deceitful  guile 
Which  lurks  in  pleasure's  hollow  smile, 
Or  from  the  false  and  fitful  beam 

That  marks  ambition's  meteor  fire, 
Or  from  the  dark  and  lurid  gleam 

Revealing  passion's  deadly  ire. 
His  steadfast  soul  fearing  no  harm, 


74        ODE  FOR  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY. 

But  trusting  in  the  aid  of  Heaven, 
And  wielding,  with  unfaltering  arm, 

The  utmost  power  which  God  has  given  — 
Conscious  that  the  Almighty  power 

Will  nerve  the  faithful  soul  with  might, 
Whatever  storms  may  round  him  lower, 

Strikes  boldly  for  the  true  and  right. 


ODE  FOR  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY 

ANOTHER  year  has  passed  away, 
And  brings  again  the  glorious  day 
When  Freedom  from  her  slumber  woke, 
And  broke  the  British  tyrant's  yoke  — 
Unfurled  her  standard  to  the  air, 
In  gorgeous  beauty,  bright  and  fair  — 
Pealed  forth  the  sound  of  war's  alarms, 
And  called  her  patriot  sons  to  arms ! 

They  rushed,  inspired  by  Freedom's  name, 
To  fight  for  liberty  and  fame; 


ODE  FOB  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY.        •' O 

To  meet  the  mercenary  band, 

And  drive  them  from  their  native  land. 

Almighty  God !   grant  us,  we  pray, 

The  self-same  spirit  on  this  day, 

That,  through  the  storm  of  battle,  then 

Did  actuate  those  patriot  men  ! 

May  those  great  truths  which  they  maintained 

Through  years  of  deadly  strife  and  toil, 

Be  by  their  children  well  sustained, 

Till  slavery  ceases  on  our  soil  — 

Till  every  wrong  shall  be  redressed, 

And  every  bondman  be  set  free; 

And  from  the  north,  south,  east  and  west, 

Peans  shall  rise  to  Liberty. 

May  that  same  God  whose  eegis  led 
Our  patriot  sires  on  Bunker's  height, 
Shed  the  same  blessings  on  our  head, 
The  heroes  of  a  nobler  fight  — 
A  fight  not  waged  by  fire  and  sword. 

And  quenched  in  gore  and  human  blood, 
7* 


T6  MIDNIGHT   MUSINGS. 

But  only  by  that  Sacred  Word, 
The  mandate  of  Almighty  God. 

Our  cause  is  Love,  our  weapon  Truth, 
Our  ally  is  the  living  God; 
Matron  and  maiden,  sire  and  youth, 
Shall  feel  the  power  of  his  rod. 
Prone  to  the  dust,  shall  Slavery  fall, 
And  all  its  withering  influence  die, 
While  liberty,  the  boon  of  all, 
Shall  swell  through  earth,  and  air,  and  sky. 


MIDNIGHT  MUSINGS. 

THE  gloomy  night  has  cast  a  shroud 

Upon  the  dwelling-place  of  men: 
Hushed  are  the  voices  of  the  crowd, 

And  silence  reigns  o'er  hill  and  glen. 
My  winged  fancy  takes  its  flight 

Through  the  unfathomed   dark  abyss, 
And  rends  the  vail  of  somber  night 

From  many  scenes  of  woe  and  bliss. 


MIDNIGHT   MUSINGS.  77 

I  enter  first  the  poor  man's  cot; 

The  sick  wife,  on  her  straw-made  bed, 
Reflects  upon  her  lowly  lot, 

While  piercing  pains  distract  her  head; 
The  famished  children's  cries  for  bread 

Are  issued  in  such  piteous  tones, 
The  father  hangs  his  drooping  head, 

To  hear  his  wife  and  children's  moans. 
The  eyes  of  all  that  meager  train 

Turned  upon  him  to  seek  relief: 
The  thought  o'erwhelms  his  burning  brain 

With  silent  but  expressive  grief. 
Near  to  the  cot,  a  mansion  proud 

Raises  its  stately  roof  tow'rd,  heaven; 
While  mirth  and  revelry  full  loud 

Burst  on  the  stillness  of  the  even. 
Here  wealth  spreads  her  luxurious  board, 

And  glittering  crowds  the  feast  partake, 
Not  caring  how  the  starving  horde 

Of  hungry  poor  their  fast  may  break. 
The  wealth  profusely  squandered  here, 

In  gorgeous  dress  and  proud  array, 


T8  MIDNIGHT   MUSINGS. 

Would  furnish  forth  good  homely  cheer 

On  many  a  dreary  winter's  day, 
To  those  who  now,  by  want  oppressed, 

Or  smitten  by  some  dire  disease, 
Pray  fervently  to  God  for  rest, 

That  death  may  come  their  pangs  to  ease 
And  do  you  think  a  righteous  God 

Will  listen  to  your  wretched  pleas, 
That  when  you  saw  his  chastening  rod 

Inflicting  famine  and  disease 
Upon  your  fellow-men,  that  ye 

Should  grant  no  aid  to  their  distress, 
But  use  your  every  energy 

To  wrong,  and  crush  them,  and  oppress  ? 
No  !   when  you  stand  before  his  bar, 

You'll  hear  pronounced  this  awful  doom: 
"  Depart  from  me,  ye  cursed,  afar; 

And  give  my  humble  followers  room ! " 


ODE    TO   MUSIC.  79 

ODE  TO  MUSIC. 

THERE'S  music  wheresoe'er  we  roam  — 
'Tis  heard  in  ocean's  crested  foam, 
And  in  the  billows'  deafening  roar, 
Which  madly  burst  upon  the  shore: 
They  sing  of  Heaven's  eternal  Lord, 
Who  calms  their  raging  by  his  word. 

There '&  music  in  the  gentle  breeze, 
Which  softly  blows  among  the  trees, 
Shaking  fresh  fragrance  from  the  flowers, 
In  blooming  fields  and  shady  bowers; 
They  sing  of  Him  whose  power  below, 
Caused  trees,  and  grass,  and  flowers  to  grow 

There's  music  in  the  numerous  herds, 
Scattered  about  o'er  hills  and  plains, 

And  in  the  flocks  of  feathered  birds, 
Who,  in  a  thousand  varied  strains, 

Praise  Him  whose  all-creating  word 

Brought  into  being  beast  and  bird. 


80  ODE    TO   MUSIC. 

There's  music  in  the  tempest's  sound, 
That  darkly  sweeps  across  the  wave, 

And  hangs  its  shadowy  pall  around 
The  ship-wrecked  sailor's  ocean  grave; 

Where  the  wild  waste  of  waters  yell. 

Through  caverns  deep  and  dark  as  hell ! 

It  speaks  of  His  almighty  power, 

Whose  arm  is  ever  stretched  to  save, 

Who,  in  death's  dark  and  trying  hour, 
Can  shed  a  halo  round  the  grave  ; 

And  make  the  ocean's  yawning  cavern, 

A  glorious  entrance  into  Heaven. 

There's  music  in  the  thunder's  roar, 
Which  peals  along  the  vault  of  heaven, 

While  torrents  from  the  mountains  pour, 
And  trees  by  the  dread  bolt  are  riven; 

Seen  by  the  fiery  element, 

The  earth,  and  sky,  and  sea  seem  blent. 

It  tells  of  Him  whose  wondrous  power 
Can  make  the  lightning  do  his  will, 


ODE    TO    MUSIC.  81 

And  sends  the  cool  refreshing  shower 

Upon  the  just  and  unjust  still: 
And  whispers  in  a  still,  small  voice, 
To  all  the  sons   of  earth,  rejoice ! 

But  leave  this  scene  of  doubts  and  fears, 

And  swift  on  fancy's  pinions  fly, 
And  hear  the  music  of  the  spheres 

Resounding  sweetly  through  the  sky; 
They  sing  of  Him,  th'  incarnate  Word 
Man's  Saviour,  Heaven's  Almighty  Lord ! 

Where'er  we  turn,  music  is  found, 

With  all  its  Heaven-born  power  to  charm, 

To  lull  us  with  its  soothing  sound, 
And  shed  around  a  holy  balm  — 

Pure  as  the  thrilling,  heavenly  strains 

From  angels'  harps,  on  Judah's  plains. 

Shall  man,  rescued  from  death  and  hell, 

Shall  he  alone  refuse  to  raise 
His  feeble  voice,  the  song  to  swell 

Unto  his  great  Creator's  praise  ? 


82  STANZAS   FOR   THE    FIRST   OF   AUGUST. 

While  seraphs  and  archangels  join 

The  blissful  harmony  divine, 
i 

Then  let  our  tongues  fresh  music  make, 
And  sound  his  wondrous  praise  abroad; 

And  when  the  Universe  shall  quake, 
And  Nature  quail  before  her  God, 

We'll  join  the  angels'  choir  above, 

And  sing  our  Lord's  unchanging  love. 


STANZAS  FOR  THE  FIRST  OF  AUGUST. 

FROM  bright  West  Indies'  sunny  seas, 
Comes,  borne  upon  the  balmy  breeze, 

The  joyous  shout,  the  gladsome  tone. 
Long  in  those  bloody  isles  unknown; 

Bearing  across  the  heaving  wave 

The  song  of  the  unfettered  slave. 

No  charging  squadrons  shook  the  ground, 
When  freedom  here  her  claims  obtained; 


STANZAS   FOR   THE    FIRST   OF   AUGUST.  83 

No  cannon,  with  tremendous  sound, 

The  noble  patriot's  cause  maintained : 
No  furious  battle-charger  neighed, 
No  brother  fell  by  brother's  blade. 

None  of  those  desperate  scenes  of  strife, 
Which  mark  the  warrior's  proud  career, 

The  awful  waste  of  human  life, 
Have  ever  been  enacted  here; 

But  truth  and  justice  spoke  from  heaven, 

And  slavery's  galling  chain  was  riven. 

'T  was  moral  force  which  broke  the  chain, 
That  bound  eight  hundred  thousand  men : 

And  when  we  see  it  snapped  in  twain, 
Shall  we  not  join  in  praises  then?  — 

And  prayers  unto  Almighty  God, 

Who  smote  to  earth  the  tyrant's  rod  ? 

And  from  those  islands  of  the  sea, 
The  scenes  of  blood  and  crime  and  wrong, 

The  glorious  anthem  of  the  free, 
Now  swells  in  mighty  chorus  strong ; 


84  THE    NORTH    STAR. 

Telling  th'  oppressed,  where'er  they  roam, 
Those  islands  now  are  freedom's  home. 


THE  NORTH  STAR* 

STAR  of  the  north!  whose  steadfast  ray 

Pierces  the  sable  pall  of  night, 
Forever  pointing  out  the  way 

That  leads  to  freedom's  hallowed  light : 
The  fugitive  lifts  up  his  eye 
To  where  thy  rays  illume  the  sky. 

That  steady,  calm,  unchanging  light, 

Through  dreary  wilds  and  trackless  dells, 

Directs  his  weary  steps  aright 

To  the  bright  land  where  freedom  dwells; 

And  spreads,  with  sympathizing  breast, 

Her  segis  over  the  oppressed. 

Though  other  stars  may  round  thee  burn, 
With  larger  disk  and  brighter  ray, 

*  Written  for  the  North  Star ;  a  newspaper  edited  by  a  fugitive  slave. 


HE    NORTH    STAB.  85 

And  fiery  comets  round  thee  turn, 

While  millions  mark  their  blazing  way; 
And  the  pale  moon  and  planets  bright 
Reflect  on  us  their  silvery  light. 

Not  like  that  moon,  now  dark,  now  bright, 
In  phase  and  place  forever  changing; 

Or  planets  with  reflected  light, 
Or  comets  through  the  heavens  ranging; 

They  all  seem  varying  to  our  view, 

"While  thou  art  ever  fixed  and  true. 

So  may  that  other  bright  North  Star, 
Beaming  with  truth  and  freedom's  light, 

Pierce  with  its  cheering  ray  afar, 

The  shades  of  slavery's  gloomy  night; 

And  may  it  never  cease  to  be 

The  guard  of  truth  and  liberty. 


^  is  Dr~ 


M191917 

a 


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